Tales of Anguish
by ellerean
Summary: Etzel reflects on his life with his wife, revealing why he joined the war in the first place.


Battle is easy. Much of the same, day after day—wake up, listen to Prince Marth discuss their plan of attack, and route the enemy. Not that Etzel _enjoys_ growing accustomed to war, but it keeps his mind off more… _personal _matters.

The army is crowded around a bonfire, cooking up various critters over its flames. Etzel sits isolated, leaned against a tree, his hood over his head. The exhaustion is starting to settle in. Not the weariness of travel, or even of battle… but of a life without Ursula.

A man rises, a silhouette against the fire, and moves toward Etzel. It's no secret who it is—there are few he has associated with thus far.

"Etzel," Prince Marth says, crouching beside him, "come join us."

He feels awful, isolating himself, but shakes his head. "No, I'm fine out here. Thank you."

Marth sits on the ground beside him. He smells of campfire, which stings Etzel's eyes. "What's on your mind?" he asks. People can say what they want about the prince, but he is the most humble royal Etzel has ever met. He looks at him questioningly, concerned, as if he sincerely cares about his allies.

Etzel sighs, throwing off his hood. "Would you like to hear a story?"

*** … * … ***

"Darling?" When Ursula entered the room, Etzel could do little else but take note. It was seldom that she came into his study, and even rarer that she spoke to him when he was engulfed in his books. He looked up from his desk and smiled. After all the years of marriage, she still had the ability to melt his heart. "I seem to have misplaced my Thunder tome. Is it in here?"

"I don't see why it would be," he said, but stood to rummage through his shelves. "Why do you need it? Your skills have far surpassed a tome as elementary as that."

"You little charmer." Ursula slid to his side, kissing his cheek. "Simply noticed it was missing, that's all. And besides…" She paused, biting on her lower lip, her cheeks flushed pink. Etzel had to look away when his heart fluttered; he had _work _to do. "You know all this business with Dolhr. I would like to keep all our tomes together, just in case."

"You're much better than I am," he said, pulling a Thunder tome from his shelf. "Now, how did _this_ get in here?"

"Ah!" She grabs the tome with one hand, taking his chin with the other to kiss his lips. "Thank you, darling." She practically skipped out of the room.

The Dolhr attacks were no secret; they had been invading everywhere. They knew of their advances, and he and Ursula had been prepared. Well, _Ursula_ was; Etzel left the tome inventory in her capable hands.

He returned to his desk, trying to find his place, with the lingering taste of her kiss on his lips. Such a distraction… though a welcomed one.

*** … * … ***

"Your wife was a wonderful woman," Prince Marth surmises.

"Yes." Etzel digs his fingers into the dirt, swallowing hard. "It's a wonder she put up with me at times. She was the kindest person I knew."

After a moment, when Etzel seems to have composed himself, Marth asks, "What happened?"

*** … * … ***

They knew of the approaching attack days in advance, but nothing prepared them for what came. Many of their friends were students of magic, capable of retaliation, but Dolhr has its own ideas. They wanted the land, and they wanted the villagers out—dead or alive.

Ursula refused to leave Etzel's side, and it was just as well. He didn't want her to fight on her own; his anxiety would have been too much to bear. They _hated_ fighting, and he hated that it was happening in their own village. They stayed close to home, casting spells back-to-back, comforted by the feel of the other behind them. Etzel could hear his wife chanting; it made the battle slightly more bearable. Her shoulders pressed into his as she arched her back, throwing out peals of lightning. His body shuttered with the ground beneath them.

"Etzel," she called, softly, almost inaudible.

"What?" He whipped around, panicked. "What is it?"

She turned to take his hands. "Etzel, darling. If we don't survive this…"

"Don't be foolish!" He spotted an enemy mage approaching, and wrapped an arm around Ursula while casting a spell. He missed, but the guy bolted, out of sight. "We may not win this battle, and our village may be devastated, but you and I will get out of here. Do you understand?"

"Yes." She nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. "I love you, darling."

"I love you, too." He quickly pecked her cheek. "Now get fighting."

"Right!"

It was easy to pick off the enemies, but not easy enough. They were getting tired, fast. Etzel barely dodged a Fire attack, and he realized too late that it wasn't aimed for him—it was aimed for his home. The wood quickly caught, the flame eating its way up the exterior walls.

Ursula gasped, the tears spilling from her eyes. "I have to put it out! We can't—"

"No!" He grabbed her wrist when she reached for the door, tugging her backward. "You can't go in there. It's suicide."

"But I can help! _Please_, Etzel!" She twisted away from him, and he had no choice but to comply. "You do what you can out here." He didn't like it, but she was adamant—reluctantly, he released her wrist and she disappeared inside.

Etzel tried to hold things down, but he was clumsily missing shots. He couldn't concentrate without his wife beside him, knowing she was inside their burning home. He _had _to follow. When he burst through the door, she stood in the middle of the room trying to summon wind. Nothing was working—the fire had spread, and it was growing rapidly. Ursula was visibly exhausted: Her hair was matted to her face with sweat and tears, her robes clinging to her small body.

Etzel glanced at his study, but didn't dare enter. His chest pained at the thought of the fire engulfing his personal library.

"Ursula, let's go. _Now_."

She didn't argue. Ursula threw an arm over her eyes, running through the smoke until she slammed into Etzel's open arms. They crashed through the front door, stumbling together to the ground.

She had sprawled on top of him, coughing and gasping for breath. He couldn't get up; it took all his force to push her off so he could breathe. At that same moment, a trail of Fire was headed toward them. There was no way to pull her back in time.

"_Ursula!_"

He had never heard his wife scream like that: The twisted agony of being burned alive.

No, no, no, _no_.

He frantically searched for the guy who shot at her, but the immediate area was deserted. Most everyone, on either side, was dead. There were screams in the distance, but nothing in close proximity.

Etzel squeezed his eyes shut.

"_Ursula_." He groaned.

He eventually sat up, hugging his knees to his chest while listening to the crackle of fire behind him. He didn't want to face her charred remains, but a glint of gold caught his eye. He almost vomited when he looked, the bile rising into his throat—her blacked fingers had fallen off, but her wedding ring was lying beside him.

He picked it up and slowly polished it on his robes, his vision blurry as he squeezed it onto his index finger.

*** … * … ***

Prince Marth doesn't say anything. Etzel supposes it is a strange story, especially for someone he hardly knows. But he trusted Prince Marth from the start, and he desires no secrets between them. He twists the ring around his finger.

"This is why I joined your army, you see," Etzel finally says.

"Yes." Marth sighs. "Etzel… Thank you. For sharing your tale."

Etzel nods, pulling his robes tighter around him. The bonfire is starting to die out, and the chill returns to the night air. "Prince Marth, do you think there is any food left?"

He nods. "I'm sure we could find something for you. Come."


End file.
